


Fridays and Salad Days

by jamapanama



Category: Pundit RPF (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-20
Updated: 2010-07-20
Packaged: 2017-10-10 23:13:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/105462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jamapanama/pseuds/jamapanama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Modern high school AU. Rachel's heckling Keith and he has a mind to figure out why. Luckily there's a party to help short things out. About 9,500 words.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fridays and Salad Days

The locker rings after it's slammed shut. It's the kind of noise Rachel knows by heart, and she grins as she turns away. Target met.

"What the hell?"

Rachel stops, then turns back around. She wasn't expecting a response, but responses make things interesting. She smiles to herself.

There's a boy kneeling in front of the locker. That much should be obvious; someone had to open the door for her to shut it, and she's glad to see she hit the right locker this time. She looks the boy over, taking in his tucked in button-up and his dark khaki pants, then doubling up to cover his plain brown belt and the brown suede jacket that covers it all. He looks like he stepped right out of the 70s and that makes Rachel's smile widen. He's broad, and probably a senior, but it doesn't matter. Sophomores can rule the school if they want to, and she wouldn't mind it.

"Why did you do that?" the boy asks. He keeps his eyes on her as he slowly rises to his feet. Rachel immediately realizes that he's taller than she is. She leans against the closest locker, stretching out her legs, leaving him to imagine the muscles underneath her jeans. She's new to this sort of thing, flexing muscles, taking up space, but she keeps working on it.

"I wanted to," she says. She looks down the hall for any monitors, glad to see that the coast is clear, and then stands up straight.

"Well, I think that sucks," the boy answers.

She shrugs. He doesn't get in her face, not yet, so she waits. She hopes. She wasn't expecting this.

The boy's hands hit his hips, and she wonders if he's ready for a fight.

"You're an asshole," he says. He doesn't move any closer, just stands his ground. "I don't even know you," he continues. "What the fuck?"

Rachel grins. As far as she can tell, he's doing what he was supposed to do. She thrusts out a hand. "Rachel."

The boy stares at her palm, but doesn't move.

"Keith," he finally says, his hands still resting on his hips.

Rachel already knows his name. She doesn't attack randomly, whatever the other students say. She gets what needs to be done done. She rolls her eyes and pulls her hand back.

"Now you know me, Keith, and it's good to meet you," she says. She smiles at him, then spins around on her heels, leaving him gaping next to his locker. A perfect hit, she thinks. She glides down the hall.

 

"You talked to him?"

Anderson beams up at her from the lunch table. His fingers cling to the mouth of his paper lunch bag, frozen as he waits for her answer. Rachel swats his hand away and sits down across from him, snatching the bag from his grip and staring down into its depths.

He's been saving bags since sixth grade, recycling them every day until they're nearly falling apart. He packs his own lunch, so his mother doesn't notice, but it's still a little weird; even Rachel realizes that. His mom has millions, and doesn't understand waste, but he won't talk to her about it. This is his second bag since the beginning of the year, and it's at least three weeks old, soft under her finger tips, but still holding up. Rachel peers inside. There's the usual, some random sandwich in wax paper, carrots (it's either those or celery sticks), a peach (or an apple, other times, or sometimes an orange), and three quarters for a drink from the machine. She snatches up the silver coins and then tosses the bag back at him. Anderson catches it like he's wearing a glove.

Rachel stands up and strides toward the Coke machine that's stationed in the corner of the dining hall. She hardly notices the way the crowd parts in front of her. What is important is the fact that she doesn't have to wait. When she reaches the machine, she studies her options, stealing a look back at Anderson. He's more nervous than usual, and that can be dangerous. She shrugs everything off, and then slips the quarters into the coin slot. When they've registered, she presses the green-and-white striped Sprite button and waits.

Before she's collected the can, someone is at her back, pushing to be the next in line. She knows she can't actually feel or sense or smell him, but she knows who it is.

"Fuck off, Stephen. I'm not done yet."

"Whatever," the boy huffs. Still, he gives her her space. She fishes 75 more cents out of her own pocket, plugs the coins in, and then she has a Coke in her other hand. She nods back at the boy. "And go on."

She's doing well in this new persona, reminding everyone who Andy's mom is, strutting around and pushing people out of the way. She bites her lip, and suddenly notices the way one of the boys in the line looks at it, then looks at her. It doesn't mean anything, she tells herself, and she is getting things done.

She turns back and nods at Stephen, known nerd and near-Andy-level tormentable.

Stephen nods back, but doesn't say anything.

Back at the table, she presents Anderson with his options. He snags the Sprite and then tears open his sandwich. Peanut butter and jelly, nothing unusual. She watches him eat.

When the sandwich is half gone, she finally speaks. "He didn't take too kindly to having his locker slammed shut."

Anderson winces. "And you're surprised?"

Rachel shrugs.

"He probably thought you were coming after him."

"He should know better... And why shouldn't I, anyway?"

Anderson stares down at his sandwich. "He hasn't done anything."

"Exactly."

"And what does--"

Rachel cracks open her Coke. "He will."

 

Keith leans back against the bleachers, staring out over the baseball diamond, his vintage '68 MLB lunch box balanced in his lap.

"Wait, Hayes, you're not screwing with me?" he asks. "You really know her?"

Chris nods his head, craning his neck toward Keith's lunchbox, looking to see what Keith might have to trade.

"She's, uh, friends with Ana." Chris spies a banana. "...or she smokes with her sometimes, or something, I don't know..." He spies some really creepy-looing cheese. "Or something, I really, really don't know." The ham sandwich looks suspect. "Anyway, I've seen her around..." There's nothing better than the banana. "Hey, you wanna trade your banana?"

Keith grins. "I've been waiting years for that question--"

Chris rolls his eyes and snatches the banana from Keith's lap. "I have Teddy Grahams or some sort of mushed meatloaf thing--"

"I suppose the meatloaf would be the most appropriate trade, considering the circumstances," Keith answers, "but I'll take the bears, as long as Colbert isn't around."

Keith and Chris both look around, bracing themselves, waiting for Stephen to take his cue. Nothing happens, so they both relax again. Chris passes Keith his bag of bears.

"Where is Stephen any way?" Chris asks, peeling the banana monkey style. "I thought bear references summoned him, some sort of 'galactic' thing."

Keith shrugs. "Hell if I know, probably'll get here the second we least want him to... But, back to Rachel... Is she always such a bitch?"

"Not at all!" Chris laughs. He takes a bite of banana, talking through his mouthful. "She's actually pretty cool, I think, knows her shit, at least. In all honesty, I'm wondering what you did to piss her off..."

"Not a damn thing. It's like she just targeted me out of the blue. I mean, she's volleyball, right?"

Chris nods. "I think so..."

Keith continues, "Baseball has always had a good relationship with those girls. I don't even know where Rachel's--"

"She's the beast rising out of the sea!" Stephen's voice comes from nowhere.

"Ah," Chris groans, "there he is."

"She's the whore of Babylon, ready to--"

Another voice: "Shut up before she hears you!"

Jon bounds forward, hip checking Stephen hard, his backpack slamming into Stephen's side to drive the point home. Stephen quiets.

"Hi, guys," Keith shouts, motioning for them to join him and Chris on the bleachers. "Hayes already stole my banana, so you can both go ahead and shut up with the dick jokes."

Stephen sniggers, but Jon pushes him forward, climbing up a couple of rows to sit above Chris.

"Why are you talking about Rachel, anyway?" Jon asks.

Stephen cuts down any answer Keith might have, immediately shouting, "She let me get my soda right after her today. It was pretty cool."

"That's great," Keith laughs. "Much better than slamming your locker shut."

Stephen frowns. "She did that?"

"Yep," Chris answers. "I saw the whole thing go down, from a safe distance, of course..."

Keith rolls his eyes and fishes out his sandwich from his box. "'From a safe distance, _of course..._."

"Shut up."

"You first."

"No you."

Jon opens his thermos, sniffing at the soup inside. "You must have done something really shitty to get her on you."

Keith shrugs. "I haven't done a damn thing."

"That's what you think," Stephen says.

Jon elbows him. "Like you have experience or something."

"As a matter of fact..."

"Oh come on," Jon sighs. "You borrowed a dollar from her once and she--"

"She made me undergo the Road of Trials, just like Hercules." Stephen cracks open a can of Coke for dramatic emphasis.

"The Road of Trials?" Chris asks. He tosses his banana peel at Keith's head, but Keith's expecting it. He catches it before it can land, stuffing it into his plastic sandwich bag.

Jon rolls his eyes. "He's getting reality confused with a comic book again. It was nothing huge. Rachel just asked him to pass a note to one of her friends in Spanish class in return, and of course, Stephen fucked it up."

"I did not!" Stephen shouts. His soda sways dangerously close to Chris' head, and Chris swats it back. Stephen ignores him. "I put the missive into trusted hands, but, well, that didn't really work out so great."

"What now?" Keith asks, finally taking a bite of his sandwich.

"He gave it to that new Sophomore, Shep," Jon explains, "and then--"

"Things got ugly," Stephen says. "See, unlike you plebeians, j'étudie le beau français, so I simply couldn't pass the note in Spanish class, as I don't take that common--"

"We get it," Keith groans. "Your Catholic high school offered French class, and this horrible mistake for a public school only offers Spanish and German."

Stephen frowns. "Okay, so anyway, I gave the note to Shep, completely trusting him to pass it along without issue..."

"But there was an issue?" Keith asks.

Jon nods. "I was there, sitting in the back. Shep was in front of me, two seats away from Anderson, the mark, and..."

"Anderson's that skinny little Sophomore who transferred in the middle of last year, right?" Keith asks.

"Yeah, that's him," Jon says. "Though I wouldn't call him little."

"Everyone is big to you," Stephen teases. "Anyway, tell us more!"

Jon rolls his eyes. "Okay, so, there was a tall skinny kid named Anderson, and there was a note for him. Shep had the note, but he was too far away. Still, instead of passing it to someone closer to pass it to on, he tried to stand up while the teacher's back was turned, and--"

"She caught him, note in hand!" Stephen exclaims.

"Stephen! You weren't even there!"

"But you've told me about it, at least a dozen times." Stephen smirks.

Jon sighs. "Because you made me... Anyway, the teacher caught him. Thank God she didn't read the note out loud. She just tossed it in the trash." Jon lifts his thermos mug to his lips.

"But that's not the worst part," Stephen says.

Chris grins. "What's the worst part?"

Stephen nudges Jon, nearly spilling the sip of soup the other boy is trying to sip. Jon nudges him back.

"The worst part," Jon says, wiping soup from his shirt, "...is that Shep tried again. I guess he thought he had the note memorized or something, because he wrote something new down on a new piece of paper, and then passed it up to Amy, and she gave it to Andy."

"So it worked out?" Keith asks.

Stephen and Jon both shake their heads.

"It wasn't exact," Stephen sighs. "Shep paraphrased the contents and so the note was useless. The secret meaning was apparently lost. Tragedy!"

"How do you know that?" Keith says.

"Rachel came up to me later and told me 'Thanks for nothing,'" Stephen says. "You don't just say that for, well, nothing."

"What happened then?" Chris asks, eying the cookies hidden under Jon's thermos top.

Stephen shrugs. "Nothing."

"But Rachel hates you now?" Keith asks.

"Nah." Stephen snatches up Jon's cookies, right under Chris's eyes. He pops one into his mouth whole, smashing it between his teeth as he speaks. "It wasn't my fault. Shep was the one who violated the sacred trust and read the note, not me. She was wise enough to see that."

Keith groans. "Then what's the point?"

"Well, you see--"

Jon smacks Stephen's hand, angling his lunchbox away. "Does he ever have a point?"

Stephen sticks out a cookie-covered tongue and then lunges at Chris's meatloaf. Chris doesn't even bother to deflect.

"Great," Keith sighs. "So she doesn't hate you even though she has a reason, but probably just hates me for no reason."

"Probably," Stephen answers, dropping the meatloaf as soon as he realizes it isn't a brownie. "Just great."

Chris stares down at his misshapen meatloaf, then lets out a quiet little "Hmm..."

Keith raises an eyebrow.

"You got something for me, Hayes?" he asks.

Chris frowns. "You know that Engel dude in Model UN?"

"I'm not in Model UN and never was," Keith answers.

Chris rolls his eyes. "Good cover, nerd, but I remember last year."

"You were a freshman. Freshmen have bad memories."

"Oh hush," Chris sighs. "Anyway, I know he and Rachel and that Andy kid hang out after school sometimes. You should talk to him. Maybe he can help."

"Engel." Keith stares out over the baseball diamond. "Might as well, I guess." Then, he looks over at Chris, snatching up his baggie of Teddy Grahams. "And I'm not a nerd."

Stephen starts to make a bear joke, but then cuts himself off with a laugh. "If you really weren't a nerd, why would you be hanging out with us?"

 

Keith shoulders his way down the hallway, pushing through the mass of endless high school drama. He has two minutes left to get to class, but he still hasn't seen Richard anywhere. He's about to give up and head on to Calculus when he finally picks out Richard's ancient blue windbreaker in the crowd.

"Engel!" he calls out, sighing with relief when the boy turns around. "How's Jordan?"

Richard laughs. "I'm Afghanistan. No wonder you quit. Model UN misses you. We need a new Australia badly, and I know how--"

"Can't quit something you were never a part of," Keith says, speaking louder than is really necessary. "I'm glad you guys are still doing that, though."

"Yeah, right, whatever, Mr. Popular Comeback." Richard stretches his neck. "What can I do for you?"

Keith looks at his watch. He's gonna have to run if he wants to get to class in time. "You free for a few minutes after school today?"

"Sure," Richard answers. "You wanna meet out front at around 3:00?"

"Perfect," Keith says. "See you later."

He checks his watch again and bounds off down the hall.

 

Richard is waiting when Keith comes out of the building.

Keith waves and then jingles his keys at him. "You got time for fries?"

"Sure," Richard answers. "It's Friday and my boring political geek schedule is wide open."

Keith laughs and leads the way. They walk across the parking lot to Keith's car, and when they get there, Keith has to clear away a pile of fast food wrappers from the passenger seat.

"Damn," Richard teases, "I feel like I'm enabling you by coming along on this fry run."

Keith shrugs. "Gotta get my salt somewhere."

They buckle in and he starts the engine.

At the McDonald's drive thru, Keith offers Richard his pick of junk food. Richard settles on a chocolate milkshake, and they eat in the car in the parking lot with the windows rolled down.

"So," Richard says after a particularly satisfying slurp. "What's going on?"

Keith crunches on a fry then takes a sip of his drink. "You're friends with Rachel Maddow, right?"

"Sure," Richard answers. "We've been in the same class since kindergarten."

Keith nods. "Has she been... Has everything been okay with her lately?"

"I think so," Richard answers, frowning over at him.

"She hasn't been acting weird or anything?"

"Not that I've noticed... Why do you ask?"

"Well, she normally just picks on freshmen and sophomores, right?"

Richard nods, "And only the mean ones at that."

"Only the mean ones? Really?" Keith asks. He sticks a handful of fries in his mouth. Richard shrugs.

"Yeah. She kind of has a reputation, like Finland, she goes against the bad guys and keeps her own, axis, ally, neutral, but always against the bad guys, historically. We wanted her to be Switzerland, but she tore down her neutrality in this awkward debate a few weeks ago."

Keith descends into his fries.

"Hmm. Have I... Are there any rumors going around about me?" Keith asks.

Richard frowns. "No... Wait, did Rachel say something to you or something?"

"She kicked my locker closed, and if she really isn't just a raging psychopath, she has to have a reason..."

"Huh. No, I haven't heard anything bad about you. I can talk to her if you want, though."

"I don't know if that's a good idea."

"You want me to try and feel her out for you at least?"

Keith grins. "I think that might get you a couple lockers slammed in your face if you did that."

Richard rolls his eyes. "'Out', not 'up', Keith."

"I know," Keith smirks, "but tell me I could have resisted..."

Richard shakes his head. "You should come back to the UN."

"Why? Austria doesn't tell enough lame sex jokes for your taste?"

"We don't have an Austria," Richard says, "but really, beyond the jokes, we miss you."

Keith's smirk softens into a genuine smile. "I really would, but..."

"Baseball, I know. But I do debate and the newspaper, too, and it works just fine."

"Richard..."

"Even if I promise to talk to Rachel for you?"

"You wouldn't hold it over my head, and you know it."

Richard shrugs and Keith punches his shoulder.

"Have some fries."

 

Rachel and Anderson are dozing on the couch, Rachel's feet on the floor and Andy's in her lap, when the doorbell rings. Rachel has her Chemistry book resting on her chest and when she starts awake, she nearly drops it. She tosses Anderson's feet away, and makes her way groggily to the door. When she finds Richard on the other side, she smiles.

"Thought maybe you were taking the day off of something," she says as she motions for him to come inside. Richard raises an eyebrow, but follows her lead.

"My hair is everywhere, isn't it?" she asks. He grins and she fluffs it up into a wavy poof. "Andy and I were just having a little impromptu nap session during our Chemistry study group."

"You were studying on a Friday?"

"Not really," Rachel smiles, "but my brother was bugging us earlier, and it was a good excuse to chase him out of the house..."

Anderson turns around and waves over the back of the couch. "Hey Richard. You want some potato chips?"

"Nah," Richard answers, following Rachel around the couch. "I had a milkshake earlier."

"Oh really?" Rachel asks. "Did you actually ride your bike across the highway?"

Richard shakes his head. He drops down into Rachel's old spot on the couch and she rolls her eyes before sitting in the armchair beside it.

"I got a ride," Richard says.

"Ooo," Rachel grins. "Hot date?"

"With Keith Olbermann? Hardly."

Anderson reddens at the mention of Keith's name. He sits up a little on the couch, swiping at the stray crumbs on his stomach.

"What were you and Keith up to?" he asks.

Richard shrugs. "Nothing."

"Nothing?" Anderson parrots. "Nothing at all?"

"Nope..." He looks over at Anderson, frowning at the way the other boy is staring at him. Then, he grins. "Okay, fine, we were talking about Rachel."

"What?" Anderson and Rachel both say it at the same time. Richard laughs.

"He says she's been heckling him," Richard says.

Rachel huffs. "I slammed his locker shut, once. That's hardly heckling."

"But why?" Richard asks.

"I didn't know you two were friends," Anderson says.

"We're not really," Richard says. "We just did Model UN together last year."

Rachel grins. "Keith's in Model UN?"

"Not any more," Richard says.

"Why not?"

Richard smiles. "He got too cool for it, I guess."

Rachel snorts. "He doesn't seem all that cool to me."

"Well, _I_ think he's cool," Anderson grumbles.

"Well, yeah," Rachel answers. "I mean, why else would--"

Anderson's eyes widen and Rachel coughs.

"You want something to drink, Richard?" she asks.

Richard squints at her, then at Anderson. "Sure, just water, maybe. I can get it."

He's standing up before Rachel can protest.

As soon as he's gone, Rachel sneaks back into her place on the couch. She flicks Anderson's ear, grinning when he swats her hand away and falls into a pout.

"You should tell him," she whispers, her voice tinged with the lightest edge of singsong. "He might be able to help..."

"Shut up," Anderson says. "I made a big enough mistake telling you."

"Oh, come on!" Rachel shoves his shoulder. Anderson crosses his arms over his chest.

"Leave me alone."

Rachel stands up, tossing a throw pillow at him.

"Go back to sleep, grumpy!"

Richard reappears in the living room with a glass of water. "Why is Anderson grumpy?"

Rachel shrugs. Anderson sighs and hugs the pillow to his chest. Rachel looks at them both and then throws up her hands.

"Screw this, I'm calling Ana."

She rushes out of the room, leaving Richard to deal with Anderson's mood.

 

Keith throws the baseball up into the air and catches it barehanded. He's been lying on his back in his bed for the last half an hour, trying to decide if it's worth calling around to see if anything is happening anywhere. It's a Friday afternoon and he should be out somewhere, but nothing seems exciting enough to break through his laziness. He's about to toss the ball again when his cell phone rings.

It's Chris's ringtone, some indie song Chris programmed himself, something Keith had never even heard of, and Keith lets it go for a few seconds before finally answering.

"Hey," Chris says. "I thought maybe you weren't gonna answer."

Keith laughs. "Just making you wait. What's going on?"

"Are you at home? I'd look out my window and see if your car was in the driveway, but I'm kind of too stoned to move right now."

Keith sighs. "Let me guess, you want me to come over and get you a glass of water?"

Chris laughs, and then laughs again. It's a long, drawn out process, but he eventually gets through it, gasping out a quiet "No."

"Then what else can I do for you?" Keith asks. He lies back down again, staring at the ceiling while he waits for Chris to catch his breath.

"Ana was here earlier--"

"Well, that's kind of obvious."

"Shut up. I would have called you, but I didn't know you were at home. Anyway, she says there's this thing tonight and we should go."

"_This thing_?"

Chris snorts back a laugh. "Yes, this thing. This party thing, with beer and... things."

"Where is it?" Keith asks.

"A... place..."

"Hayes."

"What? It's true."

Keith rolls his eyes. "Is it a close place or a far place?"

"Far-ish place."

"And you want me to drive you there."

"May... be..."

Keith sighs. "What time, and do we have a place to crash if we need to?"

"We need to pick up Jon and Stephen and nine, and yes, the place has a place."

Keith looks at the clock. It's a quarter of five. He's not sure if he really wants to go, but he's pretty sure he won't be getting out of it.

"When do we need to leave?"

"8:30 if you want to stop for tacos. But you should hop the fence now. I really need someone to help me with this box of Oreos. My teeth are turning black."

"That's gross, Hayes."

"I know! That's what I'm saying!"

"I don't know if I want to spend the next four hours staring at your nasty teeth."

"They're not nasty, just chocolatey. And it's more like... uh... three hours and forty-five minutes. Plus, chocolatey..."

"Fine," Keith groans. "Let me change really quick and then I'll be over."

"Excellent. Oh, Keith, don't hang up yet!"

"What? Why?"

"Do you have any spicy Doritos?"

Keith ends the call and drops the phone onto the bed, ignoring Chris's song when it starts up again. He looks over at his closet, reaching out from the bed like he can just summon a change of clothes. He'll need something less dorky than khakis for this.

 

Rachel shrugs the leather jacket over her shoulders, and Anderson immediately starts laughing.

"What?" she demands, considering her reflection in the mirror. "I like it."

He giggles himself onto his back across the bed, until Rachel and Richard and Ana are all staring at him.

"Where's your hog?" he finally gasps.

Rachel slips the jacket off, whipping around to look at him.

"Excuse me?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, nothing." He's turning red from holding in another burst of laughter. "Please don't tell Butch I said anything."

"Butch?" Rachel asks.

"Your boyfriend, the one with the long grey hair, who wears the leather vest and chaps and nothing else..." Anderson starts to giggle again, and this time, Ana joins him.

"That's terrifying." Ana snorts. "Yet somehow strangely perfect."

"Isn't it?" Anderson squeaks.

"You know what?" Rachel asks. She takes a step forward, then nods to her right. "Richard, hold him down for me."

"No, no, no," Anderson gasps. "I'm sorry!"

It's too late.

Ana slides out of the way and Richard pounces, holding Anderson down by the shoulders. He tries to squirm away, but Rachel is there a second later, grabbing hold of his arms.

"Help me lift him up."

"What are you doing?" Anderson whines. He starts to kick, but Ana's already tying his shoelaces together.

"I know you're just jealous of my jacket," Rachel says, "but that's okay. I don't mind if you wear it instead."

"I'm not wearing it!" he shouts. Rachel grabs one of his wrists and starts to slip his arm into the sleeve. "It probably doesn't even fit, anyway. Rachel..."

"Hold still!"

"Rachel..."

"Do it."

Anderson sighs and relaxes. Richard holds open the other side of the jacket and Anderson pulls it on. His attackers back off and he swings his feet to the floor. He starts to take a step.

"Wait!" Ana laughs. "Shoelaces!"

"I hate you all," Anderson grumbles, falling back onto his ass on the bed. "Fix it, please?"

While Ana sits with his shoes in her lap, undoing the quadruple knot, Rachel paces back and forth. Then, she stops to run a hand through Anderson's hair, grinning at the way it sticks up afterwards.

"We should gel you up or something, to go with the look."

Anderson frowns. "It's not Halloween. Why is everyone picking on me today?"

"We're not picking on you, we're just trying to help," Ana answers.

"By tying my shoelaces together?"

"That was to help the helping," Ana explains.

Richard takes a step back and frowns. "What exactly are we helping here?"

Ana laughs. "Richard doesn't know?"

"Shut up, Ana," Anderson grunts. "And hurry up. I need to see how bad this jacket looks so I can take it off."

"It doesn't look bad," Rachel says. She eyes Richard. "We should tell him."

"I already said--" Anderson starts.

"If you have a secret, could you at least stop talking about it in front of me?" Richard asks. He's been inching backwards during the whole conversation, and now he's leaning against the doorframe.

Ana gets the knot undone, and Anderson kicks his feet free, tapping her on the shoulder with the toe of his sneaker. "It's not a secret anyway, not if Rachel keeps telling people."

Ana rolls out of the way. Anderson wanders over to the mirror. He is tall and thin, the black leather framing his white t, stretching him out. He looks like a picture from his mother's photo album.

"I look like a weirdo," he sighs.

"You _are_ a weirdo," Rachel laughs, coming up behind him. "And I think you look James Dean. Give me a scowl." Rachel twists her face into a hideous grimace, and Anderson laughs. He sees himself, then frowns again.

"But do you think he'll--" he begins.

Richard snorts. "Anderson has a crush, doesn't he?"

"Well, duh," Ana answers, still stretched out on the floor. "And he looks really sexy, at least from a girl point of view."

Richard pushes back from the doorframe, starting to grin. "But why wouldn't he want a gir--Ohhhh... Keith... Shit..."

"See, so obvious," Ana says. She fishes a stick of bubblegum out of her pocket, unwrapping it as she smiles up at him.

Anderson grimaces. "Yeah, okay, now everyone knows. Great. But how bad is the jacket, really?"

"It looks fine," Richard answers. "I think it looks better on you than Rachel, actually." He glances at Rachel, who makes her twisty face at him. He grins in spite of himself. "He's not as lanky as you," he says with a shrug.

Ana sits up. "I think you look kinda cute."

"Kinda?" Anderson ask. He blushes anyway.

"For a weirdo, anyway," she adds.

Richard frowns. "Now _I_ want some Rachel clothes to wear to this party. She seems to know the trick. Total Finland move."

As he says this, Ana starts to make grabby hands toward the closet.

"You both know where my closet is," Rachel answers. She shrugs and waves him toward it. Richard leans down and hoists Ana off the floor.

Rachel slips behind Anderson's back and wraps her arms around his waist. "Now, what else can we do with you?"

He lets her hug him, leaning back into her shoulders. "I think I'm good to go."

"No gel?"

"I don't--"

"Can I borrow this t-shirt?" Richard shouts.

"What is it?"

"Some sort of robot creature," Ana calls back, "and I'm taking this belt you never wear."

Rachel fixes Anderson's collar. "The pink one? You can keep it. And borrow away, Rich."

Ana hoots. "Ooo, Richard! Take it off!"

"Shut up..." he groans.

Rachel laughs, giving Anderson a final once over. "I am so not turning around right now. And I'm seriously a fan of the jacket on you, Andy."

Anderson blushes again. "I'm not getting out of this, am I?"

"Nope." Rachel grins at herself in the mirror. "You decent yet, Richard?"

"Yeah, yeah."

She lets go of Anderson and they turn around.

"Ready to go, then?"

Ana and Richard nod.

"Richard's stomach is a lot hairier than you'd expect," Ana grins.

"One day, Ana... One day..."

Rachel snorts. "I'm gonna get a sweatshirt, and Richard, no windbreaker."

"But I..."

"Borrow something else and let's go."

 

Keith pulls into Jon's driveway and flashes the lights before killing them. Having consumed his tacos, Chris is back to his normal self again, and he's lying back in the passenger's seat, looking out the window.

"Do you think you and Rachel'll get into a drunken brawl tonight?"

"What? Why would..." Keith begins. "Hey, you didn't say she'd be there!"

"Well, Ana told me about the party... What do you think?"

Keith grunts. "I _thought_, or you led me to believe, anyway, that their relationship was mostly professional."

"I said they smoked together... Which might have been a metaphor."

"A metaphor for what?"

Chris shrugs and the back door opens. Jon and Stephen come piling in.

"If anyone asks," Stephen says, "we're going to bowling and then having a DS9 marathon."

Chris laughs. "And who's gonna ask? Someone at the party? Where we'll obviously be for the next, I don't know, five hours or so..."

"Just ignore him," Jon says, struggling into his seatbelt. "He's feeling particularly paranoid tonight."

"Can we get out of the driveway now?" Stephen whines.

Keith rolls his eyes, but turns his headlights back on and backs out into the road.

Stephen sniffs the air. "Did you have tacos without me?"

"There's a burrito left," Chris sighs. "If you--"

"Hand it over, please."

Eating quiets Stephen for a few minutes, and Keith turns up the radio against the silence. The party is another twenty minutes out, down streets he barely recognizes, and then deep into an unfamiliar neighborhood. Chris guides him down the darkened streets until he sees the line of cars.

"Big party," Jon breathes.

"You really think she'll want to fight?" Keith asks. He looks up at the up at the sprawling McMansion in front of them and frowns.

"Who's fighting?" Jon asks.

Keith sighs. "Hayes said--Wait, this is the Hannity house isn't it?"

Chris shrugs. "May... be..."

"Well, wonderful. If I don't get in a fight with Rachel, maybe I'll get in a fight with Billy O. instead."

"He might not come, you know..." Chris says.

"If Hannity's having a party, everyone from the Prep is gonna be there."

"We'll just avoid him, then."

"Why are we fighting?" Jon tries.

"We're not fighting," Chris answers. "Let's go."

He swings his door open and steps out into the night. Stephen crawls out next.

"I want another burrito," he says. "And if there's a fight, I'm outta here."

"There's not gonna be a fight," Chris insists.

 

There's a fight.

Two hours have passed since the party started, and so there's just enough beer in just enough blood streams for a crowd to be forming, cheering them on. Rachel walks right into it, and not even on purpose this time. She's just returning from another beer run, her mind on something else when she collides with someone's shoulder. She apologizes, but the accidental nature of her intrusion doesn't keep her from catching a fist to the chest. Grunting, she staggers backwards, tossing her unopened beer into Anderson's hands.

"What the fuck?" she shouts.

One of the boys looks briefly over his shoulder.

"My apologies!" he calls before a bigger boy tosses himself on top of him.

Rachel recognizes kid's accent as he goes down. He's one of the British foreign exchange students over at Prep. He's staying near by, and while Anderson calls him "the other Richard", she prefers "Wolffe", his last name. It sounds cooler. Rachel sighs and then bends down, hooking her hands under the arms of his attacker and tugging him back.

"Hey! Cut it out!" someone shouts, but she ignores him, leaning back onto her haunches to pull the boy off of Wolffe. The attacker keeps swinging all the way up, and his movements throw Rachel off balance. She ends up on her ass, and the boy rolls around, brandishing his fist at her. She rolls her eyes when she sees his face.

"C'mon, Tucker," she sighs. "Calm down..."

"I'm trying to win, here," he grunts. "Fifty bucks for knocking out the little fag."

He pulls back his arm and Rachel raises her hands. He's about to land the punch when he goes careening backwards. Rachel doesn't even go for his face. Her fist hits his shoulder, and he's done, falling right back to where he was before.

"Oof, crushed," Wolffe groans from underneath him. Rachel starts to stand up and finds someone behind her, helping lift her to her feet. She catches Keith's face out of the corner of her eye before they both shoot forward, each grabbing one of Tucker's arms.

Anderson is still standing nearby, and Rachel nods at him. "Get his legs!"

He puts the beer on the floor, and does what she says, holding on even as Tucker starts to kick. They carry him down the hallway, Keith shouting for people to get out of the way, and when they get to the front door, someone opens it for them, laughing in their wake.

"Count of three?" Rachel asks once they've made it to the grass.

Tucker yelps and squirms. "Don't do it, please!" Don't toss me out!

Rachel winks at Anderson, and he winks back at Keith.

"One..." Keith says.

"Two," Rachel continues.

Anderson grins. "Three!"

They set him down lightly on the ground and take off running back into the house, locking the door behind them.

The three are all settled on the floor in the corner of the living room when they hear the doorbell chime. Rachel laughs, and it infects them all. She turns to Keith, still grinning.

"No hard feelings, I mean, about earlier, with the locker...?"

Keith shrugs. "I'm so confused, and a little drunk."

"So no?" she asks, frowning.

"Eh, whatever."

Rachel pats his shoulder and then looks over at Anderson.

She smirks as she stands up. "I'm gonna go grab a beer and find my girlfriend. Can I get you guys anything?"

"Gir--" Keith cuts himself off, then looks around to see if Chris is close enough to have caught that. He isn't. "...lll-friend?"

Rachel shrugs and reaches into her denim jacket, handing him a flask. "Keep this until you figure it out."

"Man needs to work on his intel," Keith grumbles.

Rachel ignores him, and smiles at Anderson. "How about you?"

"Good, too, or better. I don't know."

"All right, good. He has whiskey, and I'll be back in a bit." She pats Anderson's shoulder. He watches her disappear.

"So," Anderson says. He smiles at Keith, and feels the blush starting to rise in his cheeks.

"So... Having a good time? Besides the random acts of violence, at least?"

Anderson nods, then looks down at the floor. "Maybe I will have another drink. Wanna come with?"

Keith raises his eyebrows, but nods.

"Why not?" he answers. He pulls himself up off of the floor and then offers Anderson a hand.

They start to make their way down the hallway, to the kitchen where they both know there are cans of cheep beer pouring out of the fridge and onto the counters, but as they're passing the stairwell, they see Tucker leaning against the wall, whispering something to Billy and Sean. Keith's about to confront them when Anderson grabs his hand and drags him up the stairs.

"They're gonna kill us," Anderson gasps, once they've reached the upper landing. "Or they'll kill me and Rachel, at least. You're cool so you'll probably be fine."

"Why would they kill you?" Keith asks. "You just helped stop a fight. It isn't a big deal."

Anderson sighs. "I live right down the street and I walk to the bus in the morning. I'm a skinny fag, and they're not... And my mom won't--not any more... but it's not a big deal, it just is. I'm fucked, but I'll get over it."

"Oh," Keith answers. He looks at his hands. "Oh. Sorry."

Anderson shrugs. "Whatever. They just needed a new reason, anyway. My mom was okay, but if I'm fighting, then I deserve it. I just..."

"I don't know what to do."

Anderson frowns for a second, then suddenly grins. "I just thought of something. I mean, if I'm gonna get my ass kicked, we should at least make it worthwhile."

He gestures for Keith to follow him down the hallway. Keith is dizzy and confused. It feels like the hall is longer than it should be, until Keith remembers how big the house was from the outside. Anderson stops at last door on the left, inching it open and sticking his head inside. Then, he waves for Keith to follow him inside.

"So check it out," Anderson says, reaching over and flicking on a light. The room is full of cardboard boxes.

"What is this? A incorrectly-placed attic?"

Anderson laughs. "Pretty much. Sean's old stuff, mostly, but come this way. I know a secret..."

Keith follows him through the cardboard maze. When they reach the corner of the room, Anderson bends down and pops open a little door. It's about three feet high, and Anderson ducks into it, tugging on a light string that hangs from the ceiling inside.

"Ignore the porn mags," he says, blushing yet again. "The better stuff is over here." He sinks to his knees, opening a little side cubby. When he pulls his hand out, he's holding a glass bottle. It's almost completely full, and Anderson turns it around for Keith to read the label.

"Scotch? Really?" he grins.

"And good stuff, too." Anderson shrugs. "His dad has better taste than he does. You want some?"

"Of course!"

They both settle in and Anderson uncaps the bottle, passing it to Keith. When they've both had a few swigs, they set the bottle between them and lean back against the wall. Keith eyes the magazines, smirking at what he sees, then turns back to Anderson.

"So how do you know about this place?"

"Huh? Oh, Sean and I used to hang out sometimes."

"Really?" Keith asks. "Oh, you transferred from Prep last year, didn't you?"

Anderson nods. "Yeah. Six months was enough. My mom thought private school would be, I don't know, better for me in some way, but I couldn't stand it. Not that switching schools in the middle of the year was that great, but, well..."

"I can imagine," Keith says. "So, what, you just didn't like it?"

"Yeah, I guess. I mean, the endless tormenting didn't help much, either. Billy O. broke my nose once, but, Sean, I thought... Anyway, I got out, and luckily Rachel--"

"Does she live nearby, too?"

"Oh no, she lives about a block from the high school. She and Richard and I were all in junior high together. It's... really boring, actually. Sorry."

Keith grins. "I asked. And I'm not bored yet."

"So, what about you?" Anderson asks. "You're a senior, right?"

"Junior," Keith answers.

"Really? But you're the captain of the baseball team. I thought..." Anderson smiles. "You must be pretty good, then."

"Nah, it's just that all the seniors suck more than I do. You like the game, though?"

"Sure," Anderson says.

"You play at all? I mean, even with these skinny little..." Keith reaches over and squeezes Anderson's arm. "Hmm. Actually, they're a lot more substantial than I--"

Anderson blushes and swats him away. Then, he grabs the bottle from the floor and takes a long swig.

Keith laughs. "Easy now! You ticklish or something?"

"Maybe a little." Anderson waves the bottle at Keith. "But be nice, or no more for you."

"I like a man who will barter with another man's booze," Keith smirks.

"Well, you gotta do what--"

There's a noise in the hallway. Anderson freezes.

"Shit!" he whispers. "Shut the door and turn off the light, quick!"

Keith jerks forward and pulls the door mostly closed. He tugs on the cord just as the hallway door opens, then lets Anderson pull him back against the wall. They hold their breath and listen.

"They're in one of the boxes near the back," Sean says. "Look for a duct tape 'x' on the top."

A group of boys comes trundling in through the boxes, knocking things over and laughing. Keith hears Tucker mumble something, and then hears Billy laugh.

"It'll be fine. Don't worry," Sean says. "Just keep looking."

Keith looks back over at Anderson, who has gone completely white in the little bit of light coming through the crack.

"What are they doing?" he whispers.

"I don't know," Keith answers. "Looking for something? They're really close."

Anderson shifts backwards, inching away from the door. He grabs Keith's wrist and tugs him back. "How likely do you think it is that they'll find us?"

"I don't know," Keith answers. "You're their friend."

"I am not, not any more, anyway. And you're closer to the door, so I thought..."

"Calm down," Keith hisses. "You're going all anxiety attack on me."

"I am not! I'm perfectly fine!" Anderson whispers back.

"Well, then, start breathing normally. You said you might as well give them a good reason to kick your ass, so..."

"I didn't really mean it. Besides, I was a little drunk at the time."

"And you aren't now?" Keith lifts the bottle up to the light, showing Anderson the damage they've done. Then, he grins. "It's gonna be fine, even if they catch us. You look like a fast runner."

"What does that even mean?" Anderson frowns.

Keith's grin broadens. He reaches forward and squeezes Anderson's thigh. "Muscles here, too."

Anderson jerks away.

"Cut it out!" he spits. "You're gonna get us caught!"

"Am not," Keith answers. He leans a little closer. "Want some more to drink?"

"Might as well."

Keith hands Anderson the bottle, then freezes again.

"Wait, check out over here!" Tucker shouts, his voice far too close for comfort. Anderson takes another swig and grimaces.

There's more shuffling outside. Then, they hear Sean's voice. "Yes, you got it. Take these down to the kitchen, but don't be obvious about it."

Footsteps. The outside door opens and shuts. The boys start to relax.

Keith is about to crawl forward when he hears another noise. He pushes Anderson back and raises his finger to his lips.

"Now," Sean says, "where did I put that scotch?"

Anderson rolls his eyes back into his head and then leans hard against the back wall. It creaks softly against his weight, and he starts back. Keith turns around, leaning so close his lips are almost touching Anderson's ear.

"What was that?" Keith asks.

"I don't know," Anderson answers.

"Do it again."

Anderson sighs and presses his shoulder into the wall behind him. It swings back an inch, and Anderson jumps away. He turns around and Keith nods.

"Put the bottle back, if you can," Anderson whispers. He gives the wall behind him another shove, and the panel gives way to darkness. Anderson takes one more look back and ducks into the black hole left in the wall. Keith shoves the bottle back into its cubby and follows, swinging the secret door closed just as he hears Sean start to step closer again.

They crawl a good ten feet before Keith grabs Anderson's ankle and tugs him to a stop.

"Do you have any idea where we're going?" he asks.

Anderson falls onto his stomach, then rolls to his back, scooting up against the walls until he's facing Keith. Keith digs out his cellphone and the light from the screen illuminates both of their faces.

Anderson bites his lip. "I hope there's another door somewhere, but if not, I guess we can just hide out here a bit and then turn around."

"That'd work. You wanna keep on going?"

Anderson sighs and leans back on his palms. "In a second. I'm still all... I wish we could have taken the alcohol with us. I'm tired."

Keith laughs, then covers his own mouth, stifling the sound. "Well, I'd like to see what we've got up ahead, so if you don't mind..."

"You can't fit around me, I don't care how skinny you seem to think I am."

Keith shrugs. "Then I'll go over." He hits the end button on his cellphone, lighting them both up again, then places his hands on Anderson's shoulders.

"What are you--"

Anderson's elbows give and he lets Keith push him onto his back.

He sighs. "Fine. Just, you know, no sharp parts to the face."

"Got it," Keith whispers. He slips onto his knees and starts to crawl forward. He leans up onto the tips of his toes and lifts his arm.

His hand comes down on Anderson's ribs, and Anderson gasps in pain, grabbing Keith's wrist and pulling him up again.

"Not gonna work," Anderson grunts. He tries to redirect Keith's weight, but he's too far off balance. Keith grunts and then tumbles down on top of him. As soon as he hits, he starts to laugh.

"Fuck! Shhh!"

Anderson gropes for Keith's face. His hand covers Keith's mouth, but instead of quieting, Keith snorts and digs his teeth into Anderson's skin. The bite is light enough not to do any damage, but heavy enough to make Anderson drop his arms and let out a soft yelp. Keith inches forward and hides his face in Anderson's neck, still laughing, but quieter.

"You jerk," Anderson breathes, but even he chuckles a little. His arms flail around a bit before finally coming to a rest on Keith's back. "We should get out of here, though."

"In a second," Keith answers. "Now I'm having breathing problems."

Anderson lets out a long breath. "I'd offer mouth to mouth, but..."

"But what?" Keith answers. "And please don't say because it would be gay, because I don't do well with that."

"You don't..."

"I mean, I wouldn't think it was a cool or a nice thing to say."

"Oh! No, I wouldn't, I just... I mean, no, not at all. I was thinking more about the awkwardness and, I mean..."

Keith wrestles himself up a bit, one hand slipping down next to Anderson's head. He fishes out his cell phone again, nearly blinding them both with the glow.

"Sorry," he whispers, grimacing down at him.

Anderson shrugs. "It's okay. Sorry I'm an ineloquent--"

"You just used the word 'ineloquent' while drunk. I think you're okay."

"I doubt seriously that I'm okay."

Keith smiles, then lets out a little hum.

"What?" Anderson asks.

"Can I ask you a question?"

"Sure, I guess."

The light dims, but Keith keeps his eyes on Anderson's face. "Do you like me? I mean, I know we don't know each other all that well, but I've seen you around, and I think you've seen me around and..."

"And what?"

Keith grins. "Well, you could give me mouth to mouth if I needed it. I wouldn't mind."

"If you needed it, I don't think you'd mind if anyone did it."

"Well, yes, but..."

"Also, you're the one on top of me right now, so, I..."

Keith renews the light and then looks down at their bodies. He's turning his eyes back up toward Anderson's face when he suddenly starts falling again. He realizes Anderson's hand is in his hair right before their lips meet.

Anderson sighs and Keith kisses him back.

It only lasts a second before a door slams shut nearby. Keith jumps and Anderson laughs.

"Maybe we should go see what he's up to?" Anderson whispers.

Keith lights up his phone. "Might be a good idea. But, uh..."

"We're not done here?" Anderson asks.

Keith grins, then crawls himself backwards along the wall. He looks over his shoulder just before pushing the secret door open again. The coast is clear. A steam of light filters through, landing on Anderson's chest. "I like your jacket, by the way."

Downstairs has fallen into chaos, groups of awkward kids all shouting at each other, everywhere, the floors all sticky with beer. Coming down, Keith and Anderson stop by the kitchen first. Peeking inside, they find Jon and Stephen in front of the refrigerator, tucking cans of beer into a sweatshirt Stephen has tied off into a makeshift bag.

"This is all his idea," Jon says. "Just in case we need to make a quick escape."

Keith frowns.

"Quick escape? What exactly is going on?" He asks.

"Tucker and Billy have Kool-Aid squirt guns!" Stephen exclaims. "And actually, they were looking for you two before they spotted Rachel."

"What happened to Rachel?" Anderson asks.

Jon shakes his head. "She and Richard and Ana ran out back, I think. Just... keep your heads down if you go out there."

The same crush of people crowd the living room, but they all seem more energized, excited about something. Maybe it's just the alcohol, but it feels like something has happened. Anderson pushes through them, dragging Keith by the hand behind him.

"The back deck is this way," Anderson says, "though we really might want to take Jon's advice about ducking. They'll really be able to see us from there."

Keith nods, crouching down as they near the French doors. Anderson looks back at him.

"There's a railing off to the right. As long as it's immediately clear, we should make our way in that direction first, then use the barricade to cover us while we figure out where we stand."

Keith snorts. "I didn't know you were such a strategic mastermind."

"No offense," Anderson grins, "but you barely know anything at all about me."

Keith tries to say something back, but Anderson is already opening the door and slipping out.

It's cool outside, but the deck is unpleasantly sticky under their shoes, stained red in a way that makes Keith wonder how Sean's ever going to clean it up. He stares at the Kool-Aid splatters for a few seconds, then, clears his head the best he can and follows Anderson to the safety of the railing.

"Did you see anything?" he asks as they crouch.

Anderson shakes his head. "Do you want me to look?"

"I'll do it."

Keith takes a breath and then raises himself up on his haunches. There are dark stains everywhere, down the steps and in the grass, but no signs of their origins. The back yard is completely deserted. He taps Anderson on the shoulder. "Looks like the coast is clear."

Anderson stands up and they both stare out into the woods behind the house.

"Do you think they went out front?" Anderson asks.

"Maybe, but I'd bet on the woods... Much more terrifying, which sounds a little bit more like your boys' style."

Anderson laughs. "Rachel's, too. She likes the element of surprise."

"I've noticed."

"Oh, yeah, sorry about that."

"Why are you sorry?" Keith asks. "Just because your friends do things that make no sense, it doesn't mean you have to apologize."

"Well, no, but..." Anderson grimaces. "I may have accidentally sicced her on you."

"How do you figure?"

"Well, I told her to shake you up a bit, but I think I got my idiom wrong and..."

Keith laughs. "Oh, thank God."

"What?"

"I thought I had done something wrong, but, well, that almost makes sense, at least."

"Yeah, she's a little weird sometimes," Anderson says. "As am I, I guess."

"That's not necessarily a bad--Wait."

"What?"

"Movement in the woods."

"Shit!" Anderson ducks, dragging Keith down with him. They're only down for a few seconds before they hear a girl shouting.

"Just like a bunch of dudes!" It's Ana. "Hiding out while the girls do all the work."

"Hey!" Richard protests. "I'm a dude!"

"You and Rachel trade clothes, like, every day," Anderson shouts. He sticks his head up and Keith follows.

"Nice jacket!" Richard calls back.

In the distance, Keith can make out three figures, the taller and the shorter with rifle-sized quirt guns over their shoulders. He waves at them, and they wave back.

"So, what have you two been up to?" Rachel calls.

"Stuff!" Anderson answers.

"Sounds specific! You two wanna get out of here?"

Keith turns to Anderson, who smiles.

"Sure," Keith says. "Just let me tell my friends where I'm going."

"They can come, too," Anderson says. "It's my house, after all."

They're halfway down the block when Jon realizes Chris is missing.

"Uh, guys..."

The group turns toward him, and he adjusts the sweatshirt full of beer he somehow ended up carrying over his shoulder.

"Someone do a headcount," he says, "then tell me what's wrong."

Keith drops Anderson's hand and smacks himself on the forehead. "Hayes."

"Do we go back?" Rachel asks.

"I'll text him," Keith answers. He motions for them to continue walking.

 

> _You alive?_

They make it another block before Chris responds.

> _superawesome pick me up tomorrow_

"He's good," Keith laughs. He shoves his phone into his pocket and hangs his arm over Anderson's shoulders, letting him lead the way.

The walk saps the energy out of them, and even Stephen is quiet by the time they reach Anderson's house. Keith and Jon hold back, waiting, but then Anderson waves them forward.

"My mom's never at home on weekends." He slides the key into the lock and lets them inside.

Stephen immediately passes out on the couch, and after Jon's stashed the beer, Anderson shows the remaining awake the guest bedrooms, waving down the hall.

"The first two doors. Fight among yourselves."

Then, he turns and looks sheepishly up at Keith.

Keith grins. "I'd love to see your room."

It's back downstairs, off on its own. Anderson swings the door open, then waits quietly as Keith steps inside. After seeing Sean's place, the size isn't as shocking as it might have been, but Keith still grins at the wood accents and at Anderson's obvious embarrassment.

"My mom's taste is a little dramatic," Anderson sighs.

"It's nice."

Keith kicks off his shoes and then tosses himself at the four poster bed.

"You should get some fancy curtains," he jokes.

Anderson reddens and sits down beside him. "When I was a kid, I had them."

"Really?"

"Unfortunately?"

Keith reaches up and tugs at Anderson's sleeve. "Take off that jacket and lie down with me."

Anderson unzips the jacket and tosses it at his desk chair. His desk is as wooden and substantial as the rest of his furniture, but he doesn't look at it, just turns back and sees the way Keith is holding his arms open for him. He smiles and wiggles off his shoes.

They lie quietly together for a while, Keith drawing little trails through Anderson's hair and down his back.

"So," Keith finally says, "what do you want to do tomorrow?"

Anderson falls asleep thinking about it.


End file.
